Rathien Part I Flight to the Houses
by Eruanna7979
Summary: Sorry, I suck at summaries...but this is about a girl who is living in the time of the War of the Ring, and this is her story...no Legolas HA! And its really cool...please review and you can be my best friend!


Rathien woke to the sound of the cool night breeze, moving West as it licked the side of her face. One day had passed since they left Isengard with Merry and Pippin, and all the camp was asleep, save the guards of Théoden King, and those watching in the hills on the outskirts of the camp. She sat up, and looked around her. A pale moon was resting in the sky, yet it was too cloudy to see any stars. The cool breeze continued to move, making her ever colder. There were a few dark tents set up down the hill, for Théoden and his guards. The men of the Rohirrim were scattered about, for once, maybe, sleeping without fear on their minds.

Rathien was alone, for she preferred to be alone, restlessly watching the camp below her in the valley. She could not see Mithrandir, or Aragorn, or small Merry and Pippin. She carefully wrapped her grey cloak around her to try and keep warm, but the wind still quickly flew among the camp. Down below, she saw there was a small fire, its' embers still lightly glowing in the ashes, near the edge of the camp close to the woods. She took her pack and her blanket and led her horse down to it, careful not to wake the men she walked around. She sat down on her blanket next to the nearly dead fire and watched its' embers glow. She dozed for some time, and then woke again to the sound of footsteps near her. A cloud quickly moved passed the moon, having the small jewel she bore on her forehead shine with a great light. Rathien stood up, once again, and looked around her, seeing if anyone heard the same noise she did. She heard it again: the quick crunch of leaves far off into the woods. It must have been one of the guards, she thought, but revealing her mischief, she wrapped her cloak again tightly about her and went to see what it was. Rathien walked into the forest, but it was not dark; the moon still shone brightly through the trees.

She walked along, and suddenly she remembered the song old Treebeard chanted during the destruction of Isengard. Oh, how she had awaited that day! She started singing it softly, hoping the guard would hear her so she would know that it was no Orc.

_Naur vi eryn,  
lanc i dalaf.  
Mathach vi geven?  
Nostach vi 'wilith?  
Máb le i nagor,  
Bád gurth vi ngalad firiel.  
Dorthach vi mar han?  
Dagrathach go hain?_

_Rithannen i geven  
Thangen i harn  
Na fennas i daur  
Ôl dûr ristannen  
Eryn echuiannen  
I ngelaidh dagrar_

_Ristar thynd, cúa tawar  
Dambedir enyd i ganed  
Si linna i 'waew trin 'ylf  
Isto i dur i chuiyl  
I ngelaidh dagrar._

She ended her song with a smile, remembering the day Treebeard hurled the iron gates of the great tower Orthanc to the ground. She now heard no footsteps save her own. She stopped and looked back, realizing how far she had really gone. She stood there and listened with her sharp elven ears, but she could only hear the sound of the wind again, rustling in the leaves above her. She turned to walk back to camp, but was stopped again by the same noise that had brought her into the forest. She looked up at the trees; their leaves still dancing in the wind. Her breath was cut short. Something watched her, she felt it. Like a wolf lurking in the shadows, watching its' prey, waiting, creeping ever closer. As she turned again, she felt a sharp pain pierce the left side of her stomach, just below the rib. Rathien screamed in pain as she fell to her knees, clutching at her wound, and her cry echoed through out the valley.

She desperately looked around to see the man who had cut her. Then she felt herself being dragged, further and further into the forest. The man was not gentle; he grabbed her by her hair for a better grip. With one hand on her wound, she used the other to turn herself to see him, and he was poorly dressed, as one who is a far traveler. He wore a black serape that covered his hair and mouth, so only his black eyes were seen. He had no weapons that Rathien could see, save the dagger that had pierced her skin, and he held it in his right hand, ready to use if need be.

He continued to drag her, and she yelled again, this time hoping someone would hear her. She couldn't feel much of the pain in her stomach anymore, nor the rough ground, still scraping against her. It was if her whole body had gone numb. She screamed out again, and the man struck her hard with his hilt, and she thought she heard a whistle sound in the distance. He kicked her and stepped on her wound as she screamed in desperate pain, and she remembered no more.

Rathien woke up alone, and she hadn't moved from the spot where she fell unconscious. She was lying face down in the leaves, and with all her strength she rolled over and looked up at the sky. Her wound was bleeding profusely, and though she didn't know it, the poison from the blade was already running through her elvish veins.

She prayed to the Valar that they would just let her die, and as she took a deep breath, thinking it was her last, she heard the whistles again. Many people were approaching. She closed her eyes, thinking it was an enemy, and tried to get up and run away to a place where she could die in peace. She quickly looked behind her, and saw a flash of white, and smaller brown blurs. They were coming towards her, she could hear them. She tried to run faster, but the white thing beat her. He grabbed her, and she fell into his arms, both sinking together on the forest floor. Rathien looked up into his face.

"Mithrandir!" She gasped, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Do not leave me here! Please! He will come back." Rathien grasped his hand.

"I am not going to leave you, Rathien," said Gandalf quickly. "What happened here?"

Without an answer, he took a long piece of cloth and gently lifted her shirt to examine the wound. Upon every breath that Rathien took, more blood leaked out. Gandalf's face looked grave as he looked at it, and soon Aragorn approached. He knelt down and held Rathien's hand tightly. Gandalf gave him a troubled look as he pulled out a small leather sack from his bag. He carefully sprinkled some white powder from the sack into her wound, and tightly bound it with the strip of cloth, heedless to Rathien's screams. She turned and looked up into Aragorn's eyes, and he laid his hand gently on her head. Gandalf gave a long whistle, and out of the forest came Shadowfax. He picked Rathien up from the ground and wrapped her in his cloak. Handing her to Aragorn, he jumped lightly up upon Shadowfax. Aragorn handed the limp body back to Gandalf.

"Where are you taking her?" he asked.

Wherever there is help," Gandalf answered. "To Minas Tirith, perhaps, depends on her condition. There was poison on that blade, and I do not have the medicine nor patience to cure her now, or else I would."

Aragorn frowned. "Minas Tirith is far from here, three days, perhaps. If there was poison on the blade, she will die before you reach the city.

Gandalf looked intently on Rathien, but did not speak. She was breathing deeply; the cloak about her going up and down with her stomach. She looked up at they sky, and then closed her eyes.

"There is always hope," said Gandalf, looking back at Aragorn. "Tell Théoden of my errand. I shall not be long. Ride with him back to Helm's Deep, as planned."

Aragorn nodded, looked back at Rathien with a great doubt in his eyes, and turned. With a soft word in a different tongue, Gandalf spoke to Shadowfax. The great horse sprang off at once, nothing but a white blur against the dark black sky.

Shadowfax was running at a great speed, greater than any horse has ever before, or so Rathien thought. The sun was rising slowly in the East behind Caradhras. The wind was rushing past them, but it was a warm wind that cooled Rathien's face. Shadowfax's footfalls were light, and she had fallen asleep despite the pain in her left side. She felt that her bandage had been changed, it was drier than the last one. There was a stripe of her blood on Gandalf's cloak that covered her, and her once blue-grey tunic was probably no longer that color. Her face was flushed and pale, and even her long auburn hair seemed dry and dead. Gandalf held onto her cold body gently but firmly, being careful not to bend her at the waist, fearing the wound may start bleeding again. He rode elf-fashion, with no saddle or bridal, which is what Rathien was used to, so she was comfortable, save the pain in her stomach that worsened when Shadowfax did not run as smoothly to cross a river. Rathien did not open her eyes, incase Gandalf's were looking upon hers. She did not cherish being with other people, humans mostly, even Mithrandir, unless for some reason she felt lonely or something was on her mind. She felt safe, somehow, in Isengard with the two merry hobbits. They cheered her spirits some, and she did not mind being with them.

Finally, with great hesitation, she opened one eye half way to see what Mithrandir was doing. He was looking straight ahead, with great anticipation on his face.

"You finally open your eyes, Rathien," he said, still looking ahead.

Bewildered, and unaware of how the old man knew, she opened them fully, only to shield them with her eyes from the Sun.

"Three more leagues, as the bird flies, perhaps, and we will be there," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Be where?" Rathien asked, and was amazed how her voice had lost most of it's' tone.

"To Minas Tirith," he answered. "Hopefully, to the Houses of Healing, for the people there are known for their healing skills."

Mithrandir started to talk about the different healing methods between Men and Elves, and Rathien soon became tired and stopped listening. She thought about asking him if she could move behind him to sit instead of resting in his arms, but she already knew what his answer would be. She knew Mithrandir well enough, from the past.

A sweet smell was in the air. Rathien could tell, it was peaches, or maybe apples?

Something strong and tangy. She recognized the smell. A bird chattered endlessly somewhere off in the distance. She opened her eyes, looking around to see where the annoying bird was.

"Do not look so surprised," said a voice beside her. "You have been here before."

The voice was reassuring, and Rathien recognized it, though she felt she had not heard it in a long time. Trying not to look concerned, she lay her head back down against her soft pillow, pretending to not care to see who the stranger was. Finally she said, "In Minas Tirith, yes. But not _here."_

"And hopefully you shall never have to come _here_ again!" laughed the voice. He continued laughing, and as Rathien heard it, tears started to come to her eyes. She finally turned to see an elf, maybe her age, sitting by the window, looking out over the large city. Rathien's heart leapt, and she swallowed hard. "_Elenion_?"

The boy turned to face her. "Yes, it is me, Rathien. But do not run to me! I will come to you."

He walked over to her bedside, and Rathien saw that his face was also wet with tears.

She sighed. "Oh, Elenion. It has been so long." He bent down to embrace her, as he tried to avoid her stomach that was bound with white cloth. They wept in each other's arms for a long time, and all of the maidens and healers who passed by smiled at the two friend's meeting.

Rathien and Elenion talked until sundown. They would have talked longer, but the Warden shooed Elenion away so Rathien could rest. Elenion had told her of the morning when Mithrandir came bursting in through the gates of the City, calling for a healer. It was only after he knew that Rathien was in safe hands did he leave. He said that he had never seen Mithrandir in such a need of haste, as he ran his great horse back West from whence he came.

This worried Rathien. She at least thought that Mithrandir would be there when she awoke. All her troubles soon left her as she thought of her dear friend Elenion, who always used to be by her side, and here he was again. She smiled to herself and passed into a peaceful sleep.

_'Rathien! Rathien!' The boy called. 'Come, come! Come see here!'_

_The red-haired Elf moved quickly towards the voice, lifting her gown up as she lightly ran on the newly fallen leaves. The trees were black about her in the darkness, but a dim light gleamed ahead of her, and she followed it willingly. She looked down every now and again, careful not to step in any droppings the horses may have made._

_Rathien, tired and out of breath, walked the last few feet towards the elf who stood silently awaiting her._

_'Father wants me home soon,' she said, gasping for breath. 'What is it you want to show me, Elenion? You—'_

'_Sssh!' he said, holding a finger to his fine lips. 'The horses,' he whispered, 'do you see them, down in the pasture yonder?' He pointed down into the valley away from the forest they now stood in. No mortal eyes could have seen them, but there they were: twenty-seven of them, slowly moving North, grazing upon the sweet grass. Not understanding what her friend was trying to say, Rathien smiled and said, 'Yes! I see them. Look!' she pointed. 'There is Arandur the Stallion, and Landion and old Beleg, and Raina, my mother's mare. Where is Megildur? He must be up at the stables. So must be Elrond's great horse. I know not his name. Have you seen him?' Rathien turned to her friend, who's face was grave. _

'_No, Rathien, I have not seen him. I am sure he would be as beautiful as the others, maybe more.' He grew silent, and then suddenly he burst, 'Why can't we have one, Rathien? We are old enough, I think! Oh, how I have wished to ride out with the hunters, riding a fine beast that I can call my own, and we ride off into the rising of the Sun, in a mist of grey and black and white and gold and brown! I have seen them! They are dressed with the finest saddles, and their bits are gold. How proud they must be, standing there under care of a master who loves them! Oh, Rathien, if we had our own! We would ride in the City, bringing deer and rabbit and other fresh meat, and our brilliant steeds will hold their heads high, and the people will love us. Haven't you ever had such dreams as I?'_

_Rathien stood there dumbfounded, trying to comprehend what Elenion just told her. She watched his breath come from his mouth in a puff of white frost. She followed it with her eyes as it slowly spread into nothing in the dark night. Had she wanted her own horse? She had thought about it, yes, but she did not want to achieve glory with it, like Elenion spoke of._

'_Yes,' she said slowly, 'I have shared some part in your dreams. It's just- I have always felt at home here, and never thought of leaving, even if it were only for a little while.' She paused. 'I, I have you Elenion. No one could ask for a better companion than you,' she smiled._

'_I know,' he said. 'But we could be together, and we will be, horses or no. We could travel so far together, you and I. We could cross mountains and rivers, and meet new people, and then we will get married. But, do you expect to do all of this on foot?'_

_Rathien laughed. 'No, you are right. You always are,' she looked up at him and smiled. 'We would leave our own parents then, and this place? Yes. We should do it. We can come back. We can always come back.'_

_'Yes, but we have to get horses.'_

_'Good horses.'_

_'That can travel quickly, and are not afraid.'_

_Rathien stopped. 'You mean to go soon, then? Elenion! We are so very young! We do not know about traveling or surviving in the Wild. We have both seen but 312 summers!'_

_'And that is why we have lots of time! To learn, to study, to get our horses. We should get them young, yes, and tame them ourselves. No one could ride them, except for us! Oh, Rathien! I can see it now! Can't you?'_

'_Oh Elenion!' she exclaimed, excitedly. 'Of course I can! What have we been missing? But where will we get the horses?'_

_Elenion paused, and rested his hand and under his chin in deep thought. Suddenly he said, 'The Ford. The elves are always talking about the herd of Wild horses there. Do you remember when Lithaldoren came back, and he told Elrond of their greatness? He said they would be best for breeding with our horses. The Ford is not far. Maybe 30 miles South of here.' His voice sunk into a pleading whisper. 'We could go there, Rathien.' He put a hand on her shoulder._

Rathien woke up with a start. She was sweating, and the sheets stuck to her skin. She looked towards the window, and it was open. A rush of wind swept past her like a wave of hot water. She could still smell the peaches and apples in the air. Outside, it was utterly dark. She kicked her sheets to the foot of her bed, and tore off her nightgown. Her stomach was still bound, but the bandage needed to be changed. She pulled her hair back behind her head and fell back onto the sheets, naked. She soon fell into a dreamless, uneasy sleep.

The next few days passed slowly for Rathien, but she was glad of her old friend's company. She longed to be outside the City walls, or outside of the Houses at least, but the warden would not permit it; he was under orders from Gandalf.

"You still need to heal," he said, and always Rathien stormed off to her room, as a little girl would.

Elenion laughed at this. He knew the day would soon come when she nearly lost her own mind. She would lose all control of herself and demand release, even when her wound was far from scarring.

The day did come, and when Rathien came back to her room, Elenion was there, and she cried, as if she did not want to leave anymore. She cried in Elenion's arms for the longest time, begging him to come with her, to travel together like they spoke of when they were so young. He refused, and somehow she knew he would. Still she begged him, her futile promises escaping her mouth as quickly as she drew breath. She knew her words and promises meant nothing, and Elenion did too, but that was Rathien. He sighed as he gently pushed her away, and after she contained herself, she said,

"They are letting me go. I am taking a horse and leaving tonight."

Elenion figured as much. He sat next to her quietly on her bed, his head bent over his lap. Rathien studied him: his face, his hands, his dark green tunic, his soft black boots. His hands were neatly folded in his lap, and dark brown hair fell about his shoulders. She traced his neck with her eyes, and followed up his jaw line and stopped at the sharp point of his ear. Rathien knew what that meant to him, to be an Elf. When they were young, Elenion always asked Lord Elrond where they would go when they died, and always Elrond said, _'We never die, Elenion. You must understand that. Mortals will pass on, but we will live on this Earth forever to cherish and grace it. It is the gift of the Valar to us.'_

Still, Elenion always wanted to know, and after 903 years of living, Rathien wondered if he still thought about it. Maybe he does not wish to have the gift of immortality? As Rathien thought of this, she suddenly stiffened as an unpleasant thought came to her head: _I could have died, when he stabbed me. I am immortal, and no sickness or old age can take me, but not just a week ago, I could have died._ She now understood Elenion's thoughts, from so long ago. _Where would I have gone?_ Rathien looked at Elenion, and he returned her gaze, as if he knew what she was thinking. A sudden dread came upon her, as she thought of it. _Maybe it's best that I just stay here, where I will be safe._


End file.
